


Tracing the Linear Pattern

by Kendas



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-08
Updated: 2010-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendas/pseuds/Kendas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let's a take a tragic hero, Macbeth for instance. We see that the flaw in his character forces him to take the inevitable step towards his own doom." Hermione thinks that this is something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tracing the Linear Pattern

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** None of the characters or locations used in this story are mine. They belong solely to the imagination of J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers and Bloomsbury.  
>  **Beta Credit:** Rara_avis89

****

Tracing the Linear Pattern

 _'When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.'_

  
Oscar Wilde

It's important to remember that there was never any question as to the ending. It was never going to end any differently to this.

There was always going to be tears. Someone hurt. Guilt. Someone walking away.

There was always going to be regret and something lost.

The answer to the question of what would be lost however, was always going to be open for discussion.

~

Hermione had watched this film once - back home, during the summer holiday after fourth year. Before she left to join Ron and his family at Grimmauld Place.

She had not been able to sleep and for once it was not books and a need to finish just one more chapter on practical magical theory that was keeping her up.

She had wished it was just books, though that was not a first either.

Most of her fourth year dreams had been keeping her up at night – keeping her out of Morpheus' arms her gran would have said. Hermione had started to look at Harry with a new kind of understanding that year. Worry and fear and questions – endless questions that Snape would have cried out in exasperation over were she ever to start voicing them – had occupied her mind constantly and prevented it from resting. She'd been more exhausted than the year before when she'd been using the Time Turner. She was worried over how Harry was going to get through the tournament alive. Worried about how to get him and Ron speaking again. Worried over how all this lack of sleep was affecting her school marks. The worry would go on and on, bunching Hermione's bedclothes up in a tangled mess around her body as she tried to switch off - until something caused her to give up trying.

Usually, it was either Lavender or Parvati. In some kind of sleep deprived state of desperation her two dorm mates would end up throwing pillows in Hermione's direction in the misguided hope that it might somehow cure whatever was causing her to toss and shut her up.

It never did cure her.

As she trudged down the stairs from the girl's dormitory to the common room, Hermione had often bitterly chastised both the girls for ever thinking that anything as simple as an extra pillow could. She had conceded though that perhaps there was something to their technique for it was always the push that got her out of their way and sent her to the one thing that could.

Books.

Muttered apology on her lips, Hermione would sneak down and curl up in one of the Gryffindor sofas with a book. Reading focused her attention and thoughts. It calmed her. Books helped. Answers could almost always be found in books. And if her marks were going to suffer through sleep deprivation - well, the least she could do was to make use of the time trying to combat that eventuality. Inevitably she always fell asleep and no one ever seemed to raise an eyebrow at finding Hermione Granger curled up around an open a book. It was accepted. It was just the type of thing Hermione did.

But with the dreams she was having back at home - every time she started to drift off - retreating to books had not helped. If anything they set her more on edge and that fact bristled Hermione's nerves almost more than the dreams.

She had been having them ever since she gotten back from school. Ever since the end of the Triwizard Tournament if she were being truthful. It was all she could see when she closed her eyes – that moment.

That moment when Harry had slammed into the ground, one hand curled around the cup and the other around – Cedric - his face ashen and forever held in a moment of fear and incomprehension, the words _'He's back,'_ echoing endlessly.

It was all too sharply imprinted on her mind. The image all but shouting the implication that everything had changed. That everything was more serious.

Plagued by those thoughts, Hermione had given up on the hope of sleep and instead of sneaking one of her books under the covers to read, she'd made her way downstairs, careful not to disturb her parents lest they ask what was wrong. Last thing she needed was them both worrying about her and the new world she spent most of the year in anymore than they already did.

Hermione had turned on the T.V, kept the volume turned down low and pulled her feet up, tucking them under her to ward off the cool chill that settled into the room of a night. Thinking that perhaps the mindlessness of late night T.V. would help clear her mind where her books had failed.

Instead of mindlessness though, Hermione found herself catching the start of a film, thankfully not a B - movie horror. She'd been quite certain that monsters, no matter how bad the special effects or plot lines, were not what she needed. This film was more down to earth. Something about a hairdresser played by Julie Walters who wanted more from life, and the subsequent friendship that springs up between her and a professor - Michael Cain. As it started - the characters walking onto the screen - Hermione dimly recalled her mum mentioning it to her dad earlier that evening as the three of them ate dinner, and she settled further down into the chair. Crookshanks climbed up into her lap, his feet damp where they pressed into her nightdress from whatever he'd been up to outside.

There had been this line in the film where the two main character's had discussed the definition of tragedy – _"Let's a take a tragic hero, Macbeth for instance,"_ Michael Cain's character had said. _"We see that the flaw in his character forces him to take the inevitable step towards his own doom."_

Something about that conversation had caught Hermione's attention. Made the idea - the concept stick in her brain.

She'd come back to it later. Would argue it out in her own head – the difference between tragedy - true tragedy – and the merely unfortunate.

In the end she'd always ended up agreeing with the professor from the film - nodding in acknowledgement that he had something with his summation of the concept.

But Hermione thought that he was wrong too.

Tragedy, even in the way the professor was referring to it, Hermione thought was far more common place in every day life than the professor in the film seemed to believe. What made Macbeth different was that the tragedy spun from his character flaws made for a bigger story - a more noteworthy one.

In the years to come, Hermione acknowledges that there's something of that in her and Tom - that this is something like that. And she wonders what the professor would have said about her situation.

~

The difference in Hermione's situation to Macbeth's is that hers should never have arisen in the first place. That fact is written in the fundamental rules of the universe. Of time.

Time is flat and linear in the real world. The present only there for a millisecond then gone, fled into the depths of the past to hide. It's not squishy and flexible, not unless you have access to something like a Tardis and, outside the realms of weekends spent watching Doctor Who on the sofa with her dad as a child, the concept of a Tardis just doesn't exist in Hermione's world.

Even magic can not create something like that.

The closest they have are the Time Turners and really they are only practical for short trips back in time. Hardly Tardis material, incredible though they are.

~

Except, it did arise.

~

And there's something tragic about that too, Hermione thinks. Some inherent flaw in her that led them into a position where two people could meet that never should have.

Not in this way.

Not whilst he was still so beautiful. Evil should not be so beautiful.

Shouldn't be so damned bright either.

Hermione was never one to be tempted by beauty. Beauty's only skin deep. Beauty's fleeting, and all those other clichéd sayings spoken by mothers whose children are teased at school for their bushy hair and buck teeth.

But intellect? Now there was a temptation.

After all that's why she'd spent far too much time during sixth year watching Blaise Zabini. It hadn't been his looks. Definitely not the fact that the wizard looked like he was carved in ebony by Belinni when he sat across the library from her, head bent low over his books and silver rimmed glasses pushed down low on his nose as he concentrated particularly hard on something.

No!

That hadn't had anything to do with it. And it certainly hadn't been his personality either – arrogant poser that he was. It had simply been the fact that his marks were one of the few that challenged her's, and that on the rare occasion when she'd heard him speak he'd made her think. Had even prompted her to work towards a new line of investigation on occasion.

~

Knowledge.

Yes!

That was how it started. And maybe that was the flaw too. Because Hermione can admit that one weakness she has.

And no, most of the time - like when Ron's chastising her for spending too much time with her books and not enough time having fun – she'll deny that it's a weakness; a flaw. Because most of the time it isn't. Most of the time it makes her stronger. It has gotten the three of them through numerous scrapes over the years. And most of the time, Hermione thinks that everyone could do with a little of her penchant to discover as much as she possibly can.

However, in this one endeavour alone she'll concede that maybe it's her flaw too.

But whether it's the only one, well, like what will be lost - it's up for discussion.

~

A need for knowledge then. That was her initial downfall.

It was just research though. Hermione thinks that the innocuousness of that should be held in her favour should anyone question how accountable she was for the path of events that led them here. Led them to Tom Riddle crowded in against her back, his hand in her knickers, the hard line of his cock riding the crease of her arse and his lips spreading in a smirk against her neck as he asks her if she's gotten what she wants yet.

Just research. Just a desperation to find a way to destroy the Horcruxes as quickly as possible.

A jury would surely count these facts in her favour.

~

Hermione's not sure what particular flaw initially caused Tom to fall into this thing. She does however have a list of potential candidates for the position of blame.

Cockiness is her first guess. From all she's learnt about him that's been one of the few things she's been sure of. It might not be quite the over confidence typical of the Bond villains she grew up with as a child, but there's still definitely a cockiness to Tom.

Curiosity is on there, because she had definitely caught a gleam of that in his face as he approached her across the slightly distorted room the Pensieve was creating for their meeting.

A lust for knowledge not unlike her own was a definite possibility, though Hermione allows that a lust for power was much more likely given what her research had taught her about Tom Riddle.

Madness – even at this stage in his life - it would be foolish to discount that.

Or perhaps it was just all down to whatever plan he had to deal with her arrival and what it meant. She knew enough about him now to know that he'd had been formulating one as soon as he'd sensed her starting to deconstruct the magic on the locket. And Merlin knows he'd had months to sense that. Besides, tragedies almost always have a plan woven in. Something to exasperate the characters flaws. Set the plot in motion. Something to go wrong.

But really, a plan just brings her back to the first flaw on the list – cockiness.

 _It's funny how things always come full circle in the end_ , she thinks.

Regardless of what that initial flaw is however, Hermione likes to think that at least, in part, it has something to do with the same thing that trapped her. She doesn't like to think she's alone in the guilt of that slip up, but she doesn't want to deny it either. Something in Hermione has to believe that there were more than just cold, detached plans. On both their parts. She doesn't like the thought, that she could be capable of doing that without there being anything more to it.

It's the guilt drawn from that – the fact she knows she couldn't - that really scars after it's all over.

~

Time was also to be blamed.

The one thing that should have kept them apart brought them together out of a necessity so acute Hermione was sure that it negated the majority of the blame.

Time equalled lives now.

More so than was normal.

Time had always marked the passing of lives whether it be the unfairness of life for the poor sod caught under the falling tree or simply the inevitability of mortality. But now it marked the ability to save lives that should not be lost. Somehow, it was easier for Hermione to rationalise the loss of the poor sod than that of the fallen soldier.

Every extra day that it took them to achieve Harry's goal - his destiny - was another day where lives were at risk. Another day where lives were lost that shouldn't be.

Necessity you see.

Yes, time definitely bore a good portion of responsibility. Even more so because time was breaking its own rules.

~

The plan was born out of this.

They had one Horcrux.

One.

It had been nearly four months since the three of them had taken off on their own to begin the hunt and they had only found the locket. Mundungus had filched it from Grimmauld Place, but they'd managed to track it down to Umbridge of all people, stealing it back by the skin of their teeth back in September.

Four months since Fleur and Bill's wedding and their last night with their families.

Four months on the run, moving from camp site to camp site since the security of Grimmauld place had been compromised, and just one Horcrux that they hadn't even figured out how to destroy yet.

Four months since the first time Ron had kissed Hermione. And three months, three weeks, two days since their last kiss. Since the night Hermione had seen Harry's face and realised he couldn't take it - her and Ron together. Much as he had smiled and said he was fine, that he was happy for them, happy that they'd finally figured it out, Hermione had seen the sadness, the guilt of the jealousy he felt. Seen the worry caused by the fear of his quest leaving one of them without the other. She'd known in that moment that if she and Ron carried on Harry would end up leaving them. He'd say he was protecting them and that, at least in part, would be true, but he would go also because he felt sidelined - like an intruder.

They couldn't let that happen. And though he had tried to hide it, there had been relief on Harry's face when they had told him they'd decided to just be friends, at least for now while there were bigger things to concentrate on.

So, four months. So much ground covered. So many nights spent sleeping under the stars. So many deaths – too many deaths. Too many sacrifices full stop and only one Horcrux to show for it all. And Harry was loosing faith.

Ron was loosing faith.

Even Hermione had some questions.

The stress was starting to show on all three of them. The shadow cast by the locket was too oppressive; thick and distorting. It was like a palpable hum beating in their tent night and day, one that made your chest tighten and fear what was to come because the drumming it exuded was nothing less than ominous.

They had needed a plan.

~

It was, unsurprisingly, Hermione's idea. Unsurprising because both Harry and Ron had been predictably unenthused with the idea.

It had taken her two weeks to convince them of it and in the end it was not her arguments that won the battle, but the news of yet another death. This time closer to home.

Too close.

Charlie Weasley was dead. Hit with a Killing Curse whilst guarding a flight of dragons that the Order had brought over with the intention of using in the fight against Voldemort. The Dragons were gone - some taken by the Death Eaters that had stormed the temporary reserve, the rest had simply fled and with them Ron's reservations concerning Hermione's plan.

He had come to her the night they'd heard, pushed his head through the door of the tent to where she sat outside, keeping watch. "Do it," he'd said, face hard. "Do whatever it takes."

Harry still hadn't been convinced. He had asked them both the next day, lips tight and looking far older than a seventeen year old had any right to look, "Is this worth it? Are you worth it, Hermione? Because whatever you say there are risks here and they're not as small as you are trying to make out."

Something of Ron's reservations seemed to come back with that. Guilt flushed on his face at the knowledge of the danger he'd asked her to put herself in for him. Hermione had little doubt that had been part of Harry's intention.

She had smiled sadly, looked over at Ron and replied, "How can it not be worth this risk, Harry? How can we afford not to try this? We're all at risk right now. The risks to this, at least, are minimal and even if they aren't you can't weigh my life as more valuable than all those it could be saving. None of us are worth more than that." The reply was below the belt and Hermione had known it. While her flaw might have been a never ending search for knowledge, Harry's was his need to save people. She'd drawn on that, but she'd had to. They needed to try. And it wasn't as if Harry was not above a little manipulation himself.

~

In the end the risks that mattered were not ones Hermione had accounted for.

In the end there were costs, but not the ones Hermione had weighed.

In the end she still thought the price was worth it.

~

The plan was pretty simple. The theory not so much.

It wasn't exactly true that in the four months since the three of them had set off on their quest they still had no clue as to how to destroy the solitary Horcrux they had gained or the others whenever they found them.

Ron and Harry didn't know yet. But Hermione did.

She'd figured it out a little over two months into the quest.

Actually, not figuring it out was an understatement, because Hermione had come up with two almost foolproof solutions to breaking the Horcrux on the locket. Well, two that were viable at least. There had been others.

One of the ones she had discounted was a reference from a text they'd found in Snape's study. The reference had been tiny, the theory sketchy at best and, of those she had come up with, this was one of only two Harry and Ron knew about, and both of these were in the list of 'Not Viable.' They had discounted them as quickly as Hermione had. She'd known they would and it was the reason she'd been so forthcoming with these two because something had always held her back when it came to simply destroying the locket.

The first had been dismissed because it required a sacrifice of someone the caster loved and none of them were willing to go to that length. Hermione was not even sure how reliable the theory was. Risks were one thing. Cold blooded sacrifices made them as bad as the wizard they were attempting to defeat.

The second was even less of an option. It required remorse. Remorse on the part of the Horcrux's owner for the act taken to create it. Because true remorse could break the spell and heal the soul - mend it. But they had all agreed that any hope of that coming from Voldemort was as likely as Fred and George never pulling another prank.

Of the two remaining options, Hermione was pretty certain that Harry at least held suspicions of one of them. They had not discussed it, so she couldn't be sure, but she'd seen him leafing through certain books they'd brought with them : _'Fantastic beasts and Where to Find Them_ ' and surprisingly ' _Hogwarts: A History,_ ' the latter of which they had brought with them only because Hermione said she didn't think she'd feel right without it. The way he kept leafing through those two books in particular, when neither had ever seemed to interest him much before made Hermione sure his thoughts had turned the same way as hers.

It had not come to her straight away and it wasn't one of the suggestions hinted at in the books she'd borrowed from Hogwarts before they'd left (it was only borrowing if she truly intended to return them, someday, if they all got out of this alive and free).

It had, instead, come later. Late November to be precise.

The three of them had been huddled around a small campfire of Blue Bell flames, Ron trying to tune in a small radio into the Wizarding Wireless. All three of them desperate for any news of the world outside their quest.

Tempers had been short between the three of them for the past week or more. Harry's and Ron's were flaring particularly hot because, unlike Hermione, they were used to being able to get away when they were frustrated or irritable. To take their anger out on the Quidditch pitch or even the chess board, which always seemed able to focus Ron's mind in a way that lists did for Hermione. But due to their situation the first just wasn't an option and the second Hermione had not packed due to having to prioritise what space they had. In hindsight, she had to concede that perhaps this was an oversight. Maybe she should have left one or two books behind instead because the peace that chessboard may have afforded would have been more than welcome.

"We're not getting anywhere," Ron had said and it was not the first time he'd raised the aggravation in the past week.

Hermione had watched as Harry's head dropped in guilt, his eyes flicking to the locket currently around Ron's neck.

"Do you even have any idea of a plan, Harry? We've been wondering from field to forest now for over a month and we've got –"

"Ron," Hermione had cut in, standing up and stepping towards him. "Let me wear the locket for a while," she'd asked, her voice purposefully calm and low as she stretched her hand out to him. She knew all to well that whatever funk he'd gotten himself into would ease down a little once he'd had a few hours sleep without the almost whispering quality of the magic surrounding the locket invading his head.

But Ron had brushed her hand away, and had taken another step towards Harry. "Well?" he'd asked again. "Didn't Dumbledore give you any ideas?"

Harry'd snapped. Hermione had seen it before it happened, her sigh going un-noticed by both the boys. Ron might have been the one wearing the locket at that moment, but Harry's mood had barely lifted in those past few weeks: slipping between irritation and penitence constantly.

"No, he didn't. I'm in the dark as much as you two. You should both know by now just how unforthcoming Dumbledore could be."

"Will you both just calm down." Hermione'd huffed, stepping between them, worried that with their temperaments as they were they would both end up saying something that would make the next week - or however long it took for them to make up – even more stressful.

"You can't tell me you're not curious too, Hermione," Ron had said, turning his glare on her and trying to drag her over to his side no doubt. This was the way it had always been with them. Every time two of them fell out there was always one left in the middle, an arm held by each of the others like they were just a favourite toy to be fought over. Hermione liked to think that she was at least less guilty of that than Ron and Harry. At least she tried to be.

"I mean, we haven't even destroyed one ruddy Horcrux yet," Ron had continued.

Hermione'd paused at that and cocked her head to one side. "Huh," she'd said simply, brain ticking over. That wasn't exactly true. They had destroyed a Horcrux, or at least Harry had. Hermione mentally slapped herself for not considering it earlier.

"What?" Harry and Ron had asked almost simultaneously.

Hermione's gaze had moved away from the boys and the impending argument, over towards the pile of books she'd been leafing through, but at the question she looked back, still not entirely focused on either of them.

"I need to do some reading," she'd muttered, ignoring Ron's groan and the questioning way Harry was watching her, his brow creased. "I… I'll take the locket and first watch, you should both get some sleep."

Ron had looked like he was about to argue some more, but Harry had placed a hand on his arm and with a half whispered, ' _let her be_ ,' he'd somewhat reluctantly handed the locket over and headed towards his sleeping bag at the back of the tent, shirking Harry's hand as he went.

It hadn't taken Hermione too long to find what she was after. She knew _Hogwarts: A History'_ so well that she'd been able to flip straight to the section she wanted. And there it had been, on a page that she must have read a hundred times before. All those times and it had never clicked. Gryffindor's sword was Goblin made and Goblin made weapons were nearly always permeated with Basilisk venom, which had destroyed a Horcrux before – the diary. Chances were it would work again.

But Hermione couldn't be certain, even though it seemed that Harry supported her conclusion. And there were two other problems with the solution.

The first was that the sword was missing and Merlin only knew where. They'd discovered that much a few weeks earlier when they'd eavesdropped on a conversation of a couple of Muggleborns and Goblins who were on the run from Voldemort's new regime.

The second was that Hermione was suddenly reluctant to destroy the locket. Perhaps she had been for a while.

Whilst Ron had been ranting and clearly not at his most level-headed, he had said something that Hermione could not ignore. They had no plan. No idea where to look after the locket was dealt with. Well, other than Nagini, and Hermione thought they were all pretty agreed to leave dealing with the snake until near the end. Killing Nagini would tip their hand far too much and so far their one advantage was that Voldemort seemed oblivious to their quest and the recent loss of the Horcrux in the ring.

What they needed was some pointers. Some sort of insight into Voldemort's mind. Harry had once used the diary like that, though it hadn't been his intention at the time. The memory got Hermione thinking.

She'd already been doing a little research already into Voldemort thanks to Harry.

Hermione hadn't been the only one to think to borrow anything from the castle before their departure from Hogwarts at the end of sixth year. Harry had too. He'd taken Dumbledore's Pensieve and the memories the professor had shared with him that year. When Hermione had complained early on in their quest - back when they were still staying at Grimmauld Place - that it was a shame they didn't have more information on Voldemort's younger life because a psychological profile on him, like one the police might use, could be quite useful, Harry had raised his eyebrows.

"I think that was what Dumbledore was trying to do," he'd said. "I think that's what he was trying to share with me. At least partially."

Subsequent to that conversation, Harry had started to share his memories with Hermione, drawing them from both the vials and his head and pouring them into the Pensieve for her to analyse. What she'd created hadn't been a full profile by any means, but it had been a start.

Sitting in the tent, the locket in her hands and the knowledge of how to destroy it in her brain, Hermione realised that she held the key to understanding who Voldemort had been – to completing her profile and maybe even learning something of where to look next.

All she needed to do was unpick the spell work around the locket and pour his soul into the Pensieve.

Of course, saying that was all she had to do was a pretty big understatement. But if she could do it, then it could potentially cut their quest in half.

~

When her plan was finally put into action, and Hermione saw him for the first time - charming smile fixed on his face and a plan no doubt already forming behind his eyes - Hermione felt a pang of regret. He'd still been just a boy when this part of his soul had been ripped from the rest. Not even yet twenty if her research was correct. Bright, still handsome - the damage his plans would one day do barely visible except for a glint in his eyes, a slight distortion of his nose – and full of so much misspent potential.

Hermione had to catch herself. Had to bite down on her lip and remind herself that her regret was redundant.

It was too tempting to allow herself to fall into the trap of thinking of what might have been; of what Tom might have become. Too easy to forget as she looked at him - lips quirked in interest at her arrival – that the time and opportunity for saving Tom Riddle had long since passed and that this was just a stolen moment of him trapped in time. Even if it were not, Hermione reminded herself, she knew all too well that Tom was too far gone down his path at this point in his life to save even if his future hadn't already played out.

 _Tragedy,_ she thought, remembering the line she knew so well from the film she'd seen years earlier. "Inherently flawed and unstoppable," she murmured aloud and wondered just how true that statement was.

Hermione's head cocked to the side as she watched Tom approach her; the wariness the locket had seemed to palpitate earlier disguised with a cocky smirk and a languid stride.

This was true tragedy. This was to what the professor had been referring in the film: the waste of the life of a talented boy. The deaths, torture, fear and destruction that would follow because of this path Tom had taken while tragic were not true tragedy. They were merely a consequence of tragedy and not unstoppable in the way that the madness born from Tom's fanaticism, his lust and obsession, for power, for control over all elements of his life were. Those people could have been warned and, in the majority of cases at least, their fates could have been side stepped. Hermione wasn't sure Tom's could have. Not unless you went right back to the start and even then Hermione had her doubts.

~

Hermione chose not tell him why she'd come right away. She left the questions for later. Establishing a rapport of some kind with him was her first priority.

Tom never asks.

But it does not surprise her when he lets slip that he knows she wants something. And she doesn't think for one moment that he doesn't already suspect just what.

That's the thing with them – they never underestimate each other.

Hermione never underestimates Tom.

Tom never underestimates Hermione.

They only make that mistake when it comes to themselves. Themselves, this thing and the true cost of the information Hermione had come to procure.

~

At some point Hermione finds herself in a position where Tom's hand has curled over her hip. His finger tips pressing in.

Tighter.

Harder.

Deeper.

More insistent and definitely more interested since Hermione had drawn her wand and pressed the tip into the centre of his chest.

Tom wasn't being subtle. There was cunning in his actions, but the actual delivery was lacking in Hermione's opinion. The reality of the expectations she had come to build up whilst preparing herself for this encounter were definitely falling short of the mark. Perhaps Tom had been locked in the Horcrux for too long, at least the diary had had people to talk to occasionally. Or perhaps the spilt that had brought this part of him here had damaged the fragment too much. Because, whilst the charm and the intelligence of the boy she had witnessed through Harry's memories was still there, something was lacking.

What he was doing was clear. Hermione just had no idea how he thought it could work in his favour.

Hermione didn't know how this had gone so wrong, but she thought she could use it. She was sure she could use it. And she didn't feel the least bit guilty about doing so either.

Mostly.

But Tom would use her just as quick, she reasoned, shutting down the voice in her head that seemed to think this an opportune moment to question her morals and the lengths to which she was prepared to go for Harry's quest – for their quest. For the greater good.

"I can hurt you," she said, not sure yet if Tom was simply underestimating her ability and the danger she posed since her _'attire,'_ as he put it, gave away her heritage quite clearly – she was surprised he hadn't used the word Mudblood, but apparently his subtlety and charm were not completely wiped out even if they were lacking in areas.

"I know," Tom replied, eyes glittering and smirk approaching something that reminded Hermione eerily of Ron's on the rare occasion he had actually found an opponent who could challenge him at chess.

Hermione revised her opinion of his actions with the realisation that came with that comparison. Clearly it was just the fifty or so years alone in a locket that had sent him completely doo-lally.

"You're getting off on this?" she asked incredulously, the idea itching as it slipped over her tongue.

There was an edge of a hiss in the laugh that answered her, barely there, but audible none the less. She was not sure what sickened her more.

"No," Tom purred, his lips slipping up over the still somewhat reluctant skin of Hermione's neck; her body not yet quite ready to fall in line with her new plan. Definitely not after the reminders that had come with what she'd heard in Tom's laugh. "I'm getting off on the fact that you would."

~

When she questions herself on the hows and whys, Hermione knows the answer to the question of why she's in this thing. She knows it's more than just the reasons she's telling herself too. Because she's bright, wasn't head of her class for nothing, and she knows she could get what she wants from Tom without going to these lengths.

But Tom's surprisingly forthcoming when she acquiesces a little. Seems to be selling himself out willing. It would be enough to make her doubt the information he's sharing except for the fact she has almost complete confidence in the spell work she placed on the Pensieve before risking this.

And the other ways would have taken longer, she thinks. Would have required more visits. And as well as time being an issue there's also the memory of how hard it was to get Harry to let her try this once, she's not sure she could convince him of the risks on a more repetitive basis.

Hermione's not naïve. She doesn't think for a second that this is down to her feminine whiles. She has no doubts that Tom's getting something else out of this; she's just not sure what. But there's definitely something given the way he closed up entirely when she pulled back that last time: calling herself into question over just how much the information was worth.

~

The price paid Ron and Harry will never know. The decision does not need any further explanation in Hermione's opinion. And the deliberation on the matter is marginal.

The choice, what little of one there was, was always clear to her.

They could never know.

What she doesn't admit is that the decision is for her as much as it is for them.

~

It's Hermione that walks away in the end.

It's always Hermione in the end.

Tom's always left behind, the cocky grin on his face wavering slightly as he wonders who really won out of the two of them.

The doubt that he's maybe missing something is only there for a moment before self assuredness slips back in. He is Lord Voldemort. He has a plan. A brilliant, infallible plan. One no one else has dared do. One no one else has been brilliant enough to pull off. Not even Dumbledore. Not even Grindelwald. Not even his ancestor, Slytherin himself. What does he have to fear - to envy even, of a slip of a girl with weak, dirty blood intriguing though she was? Surprisingly so.

He has a plan, he reminds himself and his smile eases and smoothes once more.

It's not because Tom can't leave that it's always Hermione who does the walking - although that is definitely a factor and were it not perhaps things would have gone slightly differently. But regardless of the finer details - regardless of the fact that Hermione is just another one of those select few people who flit into Tom's path and who fail to fit into his original plan. Regardless of the fact that he has a new plan and that this is part of it - in the end there would still be a parting for that is the way of a tragedy. And this thing between the two of them, whatever it is, has always reeked of tragedy.

It was never going to end any differently to this.

~Epilogue~

 _"So now it is time to disassemble the parts of the jigsaw puzzle or to piece another one together, for I find that, having come to the end of my story, my life is just beginning._

  
Conrad Veidt  
Except…

After it's all over - not their quest, because there's still so much of that ahead, but now that the information's gathered, now they have a direction and Hermione back on the floor of their tent, Ron's arms wrapped around her middle in relief – Harry places a hand on her shoulder and tilts her face up to his. "It's over?"

She doesn't reply for a moment, but then nods, her hand curling over Ron's to comfort him, reassure him she's okay even if she's not certain of the truth of that.

"And the Horcrux is deactivated?"

"Yes. There's no link there anymore."

"And what about –" Harry doesn't say his name. None of them do any more, not since they learned about the Taboo upon it, but it still doesn't feel quite right for them to go back to saying You-Know-Who just yet.

Harry's looking at her, eyes trained firmly on her's even as he pushes his glasses back up his nose. There is a penetrative quality about the attention that Hermione hasn't felt from him before and it causes her to pause for a second. "What about him?"

Harry doesn't answer, instead he simply glances over at the pensive and raises an eyebrow.

"Harmless now," Hermione replies without missing a beat.

"You don't think we should… finish it?"

"Kill him?" She shakes her head. "We might still need him."

Harry hums, the sound of his thoughts audible in the noise, but he lets the subject drop for the time being.

He doesn't raise it again until later that night. After they have all eaten, and Ron is ensconced on the other side of the tent trying to tune their radio into _Potterwatch_ once more.

"What happened in there?" he asks, keeping his voice low and dropping down next to where Hermione is sat on the floor, _Hogwarts: A History_ spread out in front of her and a quill resting thoughtfully on her bottom lip.

"We talked," she replies, dismissing the topic as she sucks the quill into her mouth, chewing on the end and studiously not looking up at her friend. She's all too aware that Harry doesn't want or need to know what really happened in there with Tom. She knows Ron certainly doesn't. She made that decision before she committed herself into going through with her revised plan. Maybe even before that. Hermione sends a silent prayer up to the gods she long ago dismissed as illogical for Harry to drop the topic. She can't lie at the moment. Not to either of them. She still feels too raw, and Harry's looking closer than he's ever looked before. "There's a mention here of the Diadem, look."

"Hermione," Harry's voice is pointed, and his hand is resting on her shoulder again.

"Harry, can we just not do this now? Please."

Harry stays quite for a moment. Hermione watches out of the corner of her eye as his free hand moves across and fingers the bag Hermione had enchanted to hold their things before they'd had to flee – the bag that now contains a vial holding the piece of Tom Riddle's soul that was in the locket.

"He might as well just be a memory now," she says quietly, looking at the bag.

"He gets into your head."

Hermione huffs, her patience snapping slightly. "I know. I've seen it remember. You. Ron. Ginny. I've felt it Harry. I carried that locket just as much as the rest of you. I know what he's like."

"Then don't you think it would be safer –"

"We might need to confer with him again."

"I thought the incantations you weaved into the Pensieve ensured his honesty."

"They did, but -" Hermione clears her throat. "- his plan for the Diadem hadn't been carried out at the point the locket was made into a Horcrux. He could have changed his mind. And besides, there are always oversights." Hermione was not one to think she was infallible. That kind of flaw always spelled doom.

Harry nods and squeezes Hermione's shoulder before leaning forward to place a kiss against her temple. "There is, which is why I think it would be better to just eliminate the risk now."

"Kill him, you mean. You can say it Harry. That's what you'd be doing. Just because he has no body doesn't make him any less –"

"Human? Unfortunately that's exactly what it makes him. That's why we're here. Remember?"

Hermione huffs. She's not sure she agrees. In fact, she's pretty certain she doesn't. "The vial's warded, he can't touch us. I've made sure he can't get in our heads like he could before."

Harry cuts off whatever she was about to say next. "That doesn't mean anything if he's already in them."

"Are you saying you don't trust me, Harry? Because out of the three of us I'm the only one who hasn't flipped out yet."

"I'm not saying that, Hermione. I'd never think that. I'm just saying we should be careful."

"I just think he could be a valuable resource. Don't you?"

Harry nods slowly, reluctantly. "He could. But he's a dangerous one too."

Hermione's about to reply to that – argue that they've used dangerous resources before, but a cry of triumph followed by a fist shooting into the air cuts into their conversation, shutting any further discussion off. Hermione gives silent thanks that for the time being at least the conversation is over.

"I've got it. The password was Padfoot this time. Come on, it's already started."

~

The thing about tragedies is that you can't stop them once they're in motion. That's the nature of them.

 _ **~Nox~**_


End file.
